


Of Elvenkings and Bargemen

by Dach



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: #heylooktherewasatinybitofangstinthis, Adorable Bardlings, And Thranduil sure knows it!, Angst, Background Aralas, Background Relationships, Bard - Freeform, Barduil - Freeform, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff, Humor, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, It's Okay to be Gay in Arda, Legolas Knew it, Legolas is a little shit, M/M, Slash, The Author Regrets Nothing, Thranduil Doesn't Get That He's Supposed to Tell Bard he's King, Thranduil is awkward, and then a little, and then fluff again, the bardlings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:35:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9219254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dach/pseuds/Dach
Summary: Thranduil crouched behind one of the many bushes. Should any of his subjects learn of his predicament, they would probably deny that he was their king, rather, they would insinuate that some sort of imposter was trying to impersonate the mighty elf. But it was not so, and Thranduil Opherion crouched behind the plant just the same, his eyes narrowed as he spied on the waiting bargeman.Thranduil hides in the bushes to check that his ferry-elves are doing their job well. They aren't. So, naturally, he fires them a hires a group he finds more fit for the job. And yet, he finds himself in the bushes again the next week anyways; something about The Bargeman has peaked his interest. And perhaps the same is true vice versa, for when he reveals himself (reveals himself as "Thran", of course; Eru forbid the man find out he was The Elvenking), The Bargeman and him strike a friendship. A friendship which blossoms into something more.





	

Thranduil crouched behind one of the many bushes. Should any of his subjects learn of his predicament, they would probably deny that he was their king, rather, insinuating that some sort of imposter was trying to impersonate the mighty elf. But it was not so, and Thranduil Opherion crouched behind the plant just the same, his eyes narrowed as he spied on the waiting bargeman.

The bargeman’s dark hair fell in his face yet again, and the waiting man finally cursed, throwing his bow the the ground and withdrawing a strip of cloth. Thranduil watched, his eyes glittering in amusement, as the man roughly tied the offending hair behind his head, knotting the cloth with a certain sense of finality. Thranduil could agree with the bargeman’s unspoken sentiments.  _ Lazy ferryelves… they should have been here an hour ago. _

As if on cue, the raft appeared from around the bend, the elves joking and laughing from afar. Thranduil’s eyes narrowed as he saw the empty wine bottles littered by their feet. The elves continued their merrymaking and their eyes swept directly past Thranduil. Even so, the king had to resist the urge to stand, instinctively moving to straighten up and apply additionally to his unofficial standards. Instead, he crouched further, praying to Eru that his near-white hair wasn’t spotted tangled around the plants. The elves remained perfectly oblivious- no doubt due to their inebriation- and allowed the barrels to bump to land. Leaving the bargeman to deal with the loading of the barrels, the ferryelves tugged on the rope till it unravelled- it was clearly elven rope- and then, without a backwards glance, they hurried off to the tavern, jostling each other all the while. Thranduil frowned at their lack of regality, but didn’t say a word, withdrawing further until he was in the shadow. 

At last, the bargeman drew his tattered coat tighter around himself one last time as he finished loading the barrels into the boat, ferrying it away from the elven king and towards the shoddy silhouette of Laketown from afar. Without a word, the elf hurried away, racing back towards Mirkwood before he could be missed.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

That night, Thranduil sat upon his throne. His legs were crossed as if nothing had happened. But something had. Watching with disdain, he sneered slightly as the door swung open and, far below, several muddied ferryelves made their way drunkenly towards their rooms. Thranduil withdrew several pieces of parchment, folding them crisply and calling for servants. 

The notes were quickly borne to the ferryelves’ rooms. 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

A week later, Thranduil crouched in his hiding spot once more. He had thought to tie his hair back this time, and he wore naught but leggings and a tunic instead of his fine robes; he reckoned that the servants had begun to suspect something, whence they discovered a good amount of earth upon his overcoat. 

And so he watched as the new ferryelves making their way down the river. This time, they were completely punctual, and Thranduil smiled to himself; it had definitely been a good idea to fire the previous ferryelves. Indeed, these ones helped the bargeman load the first of the barrels, even giving him a piece of their lembas when his stomach rumbled embarrassingly loud and he flushed. He complimented their braids, and they laughed, giving him a piece of ribbon for his daughters (the bargeman smiled fondly and pocketed it immediately).  _ Yes _ , Thranduil decided,  _ these were are type of elves who will stay loyal to their job. _

When the elves left, the bargeman watched with curiosity as he nibbled at the lembas. It was a small piece- only enough for a large meal- but he only ate a few crumbs, carefully wrapping it and placing it delicately in his pocket. Thranduil frowned at the movement. Who was he saving it for? Thranduil paid The Master (a loathsome man which had claimed rule) a bonus for the bargeman’s wages. 

But it was none of his buisness, and Thranduil left the scene without further thought.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The elves were grateful for their prompt pay-raise, that evening.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The next week, Thranduil hid in the bushes again. He knew that the ferryelves could handle themselves, but he wasn’t entirely sure about the bargeman. Despite his best attempts, images of the tattered coat and the sound of the man’s growling stomach had wormed their way into Thranduil’s mind; there was no way that the man was paid enough.

Soon enough, the bargeman appeared, his appearance as ragged as ever. Thranduil frowned.

The elves and the bargeman exchanged friendly greetings, and soon the first of the barrels were delivered onto the barge. The elves sailed away, and Thranduil crept closer.

It had taken much internal convincing, but Thranduil now wore common-garb, and his braids were twisted into the ordinary pattern; the king doubted the bargeman could tell the difference between royal braids and regular braids, but he didn’t wish to take any chances.

“Hello.”

The bargeman started, and the barrel very nearly slipped from his hands. He turned, and spotted Thranduil. At once, a smile crossed his features. “Hello. Fancy seeing another elf here?”

His attempt at joking was weak, but Thranduil allowed an indulgent smile to pull at his lips.

“I was taking a bit of a walk, and I must confess to curiosity,” said the king. The bargeman raised a solitary eyebrow.

“Oh?”

Thranduil grinned in what he hoped was a sheepish fashion. “Indeed. My name is Thran.” He held out his hand in the fashion he had seen many other men do. The bargeman outright grinned, and he shook the proffered hand.

“Bard. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” said Thranduil, moving forwards and helping load the barrels. He could see Bard’s protest bitten back, and the man instead accepted the help gratefully.  _ Thank Eru, _ thought Thranduil.  _ No dwarven-esque pride here! _

“Now as for that curiosity…” Thranduil hesitated, not sure how to phrase what he wanted asked. “If I may…” The king sighed. “I don’t know how to say this. And I’m afraid it could be interpreted as very rude indeed.”

Bard grinned and waved his hand dismissively. “You’ve warned me. Go ahead.”

Thranduil nodded his thanks and then, hesitantly, said: “I’ve noticed that you coat is in… a state of disrepair. And the same is true for the rest of your clothes. I couldn’t help but wonder, isn’t a bargeman paid better?” 

Luckily, the dark-haired man didn’t seem to take offense. He just sighed in exasperation. “I wish!” He joked. “The Master- the leader of Laketown- pays me in minimal food. Our wages come in through the form of my oldest daughter’s medical knowledge.”

Thranduil had to physically resist the urge to grind his teeth.  _ That rat! _ However, his frown of disapproval showed. “I know for a fact,” the elf chose his words carefully. “That the elvenking sets aside wages specifically for you. Have you not been receiving them?”

Thranduil had his answer before he had even finished his question; Bard’s eyes were subtly flashing in rage. “And I know for a fact that I’ve never seen a penny of these wages!”

The barrels, which had been forgotten until then, were hastily loaded. Thranduil stepped forwards before Bard could leave. “Wait! I will speak with my king. Surely, The Master wouldn’t do anything of good consequence if you told him of your knowledge.” Then, softer: “Stay your hand, my friend.”

Bard’s lips pulled back from his teeth in a soundless snarl- he had prominent canines, Thranduil realized- but he took several steadying breaths. “Please do.”

Thranduil nodded and saluted the man jokingly. “Be well, mellon-nin. I will seek you out after the barrel-delivery next week.”

Bard nodded. “Aye. I will see you then.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The instant Thranduil had made it back to the Kingdom, his subjects knew that something was wrong. He practically  _ glowed _ in fury, and he stalked directly to the where all knew that he wrote letters. His advisors exchanged nervous glances, and then followed him in, hoping to prevent any alliance-breaking.

Two hours later, they emerged. Thranduil’s main advisor held the letter in front of him with two fingers, as if it were coated in something foul. Behind them, Thranduil stalked with a feral grin. Several elves recoiled at the view of their king.

The blonde motioned his son over, whispering something hasty in his ear. The prince grinned- whatever he heard must have amused him. He accepted the letter at once, straightening his bow before walking out of the hallway. There was absolute silence. Thranduil smirked and went back to his throne.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The next delivery day, Thranduil walked up to Bard the instant that the delivery elves left.

“Mae govannen, mellon-nin!”

Bard turned and, at once, Thranduil could see that he was elated. “Thran!”

He enveloped the older elf in a hug, before burying his face in the elf’s chest and laughing. Finally, he withdrew and looked up at Thranduil, his face stretched in a wide grin. “What in Arda did you say to your king?”

Thranduil had the grace to blush.

“I mentioned how you always made sure that the barrels were never scuffed, or anything of the like, and how The Master cheated you anyways. I don’t think he appreciated that, and the letter he sent you The Master contains several… is saying the word ‘threats’ too blunt?”

Bard laughed giddily. “I can’t believe you convinced him to do that!”

Thranduil shrugged as best he could in Bard’s embrace, his face still red. “It wasn’t hard.”

Bard just smiled. Suddenly he seemed to remember something, and he withdrew, fumbling for his pockets. “I forgot! I told Tilda about the ‘nice elf’ I met, and she wanted me to give you this!”

Thranduil was promptly presented with a vague cross-stitched letter, sewn on canvas. He could see where it was worried in some places, like it had been unthreaded to respell several incorrect words.

‘Thank you, nice elf! Da says that you’re really nice, and so i’m glad! You are nice, and so i thought you would like a letter! I didn’t see you yet, so i can’t stitch you a picture. But maybe you like the letter? I hope you do. My spelling isn’t good, because we could aford school, but Da taught me. I’m glad that you’re nice to him, and that’s good, because he was smiling when he came home, and that’s a good thing. sigrid and Bain are happy too. So i want you stay around him, okay? love, Tilda.’

 

Thranduil smiled at the letter and Bard promptly choked on air as he read the canvas. “Oh! I swear, you don’t need to feel any obligation-”

Thranduil, very seriously, made a show of reaching into his pocket and pulling out a fistful of air. “Obligation,” he informed Bard, pointing at it. He pretended to throw the air into the lake. “Gone. And yet, I might just keep just hanging around here; if you coincidentally happen to be here… well…” He made a show of winking at Bard, and the bowman stared at him in shock for a few moments, before bursting into laughter. As the bargeman laughed, Thranduil carefully folded Tilda’s letter and gently situated it in  his pocket. He straightened back up, just in time to see the bargeman giggling. His large smile- something that put his sharp canines on clear display- was beautiful. It was gentle. Kind.

Thranduil felt his own face grow red, and he looked away. At last Bard stopped, his eyes glinting with the hint of tears of mirth. “I was not expecting you to say that!” he exclaimed, wiping his eyes. Thranduil smiled.

“I like to think that I have the tenancy to surprise.”

Bard shook his head in disbelief, a fond smile making its way across his face regardless.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

That night, Thranduil went to say goodnight to his son. He found him writing a letter.

“Legolas?”

The prince promptly squeaked, his face going red. He hastily hid the letter, but Thranduil still caught two key pieces of information. “Aragorn” was one of them, and was written at the top. At the bottom, Thranduil’s son had ended with: “Love, Legolas”. The king’s eyes narrowed, and he tried his best to recall the dunedain ranger. 

“Remove your hand.” 

Legolas shook his head stubbornly. Thranduil shot him a glare, and leaned forwards to remove the offending hand himself. Unfortunately, the movement finally dislodged the piece of canvas in his pocket. Legolas saw it, and his other hand darted out to capture the letter floating to the ground.

“What’s this?” 

Thranduil gritted his teeth. “Nothing, ion-nin.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow and one-handedly flipped it open. “‘To nice elf’,” He read aloud. Thranduil frowned, and grabbed for it, ignoring Legolas’s own letter.

“Give it back!”

“First,” teased Legolas, holding the canvas at arm’s length. “You tell me who the ‘Da’ spoken of in this letter is.”

Thranduil frowned even more severely. Finally, when he realized he wouldn’t be getting back the canvas otherwise, he gritted out: “His name is Bard Bowman.”

Legolas lowered his arm and grinned. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Who is this-”

Unfortunately for his son, Thranduil managed to snatch the letter, and was out of the room before Legolas could protest.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Thranduil returned every week for several months.

Finally, when Bard was laughing at one of Thranduil’s joke, and the elf king couldn’t stand the now-familiar fluttering of his stomach, he leaned forwards and captured the bargeman’s lips.

They both froze, only just realizing what had happened, but before Thranduil could pull away to apologize, Bard was returning the kiss, his lips searing. They eventually parted, and his sharp canines brushed over Thranduil’s lower lip to elicit whimpers. 

Both were flushed. Without a word, Bard leaned forwards for another kiss. Thranduil met him halfway.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The next week, the ferryelves had hardly left when Thranduil came bursting through the bushes, holding a bouquet of flowers high with a certain sense of pride and a grin. Laughing, Bard withdrew his own bouquet, and they exchanged them. Thranduil felt his heart leap, and, without hesitation, he leaned over to kiss Bard once more.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Legolas was constantly wondering where the new flowers in his father’s crown had come from.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

When the news of Laketown’s ruin came to Thranduil, his head spun.

_ Bard could be gone. He could be  _ gone _. _

He leapt off the throne, already shouting orders towards the confused elves. Waiting for his subjects was torturous, and he was pacing before long. Only his son’s staying hand kept him from leaping onto his elk and riding off. 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Approaching the survivor’s camp, Thranduil couldn’t help but tense. With hair like he had, Bard wouldn’t mistake him for a different person for a minute. And he had never told him of his status which, with his immaculate crown and gleaming armor, was now undoubted. The guards let them through without complaint, thanking Thranduil. Thranduil nodded, and went further. They emerged through the trees, and at once, it fell silent. Heads turned and people parted a path. Thranduil tried his hardest not to look for Bard but, upon seeing one extremely injured male who didn’t look far from the bargeman’s age, he couldn’t help it. His eyes were visibly roaming the camp as he moved towards the center tent, and his concern was clear.

And then. Thank Eru. And  _ then _ .

“Thran,” breathed the bargeman. Thranduil’s head swivelled and his breath caught in his throat. There stood Bard, his eyes wide with shock and, asides from the cut on his cheek and the scrape on his shoulder, he looked unharmed. 

Thranduil wasn’t sure how he did it, but one moment he was sitting on his elk’s back, and the next he had slipped off, and he was in Bard’s arms. The king’s eyes glittered despite himself, and before Bard could do anything, he had the man’s face in his hand. Checking Bard for further injuries, Thranduil let out a weak laugh.

“Thank Eru.” his voice was hoarse. Bard seemed to understand and he pulled Thranduil closer, leaning up when the elf kissed him. The murmurs of the crowd seemed to fade, and then it was just Thranduil and Bard- who was safe. At long last, Thranduil broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Bard’s and fondly tucking a stray lock of unruly hair behind the man’s ear. 

“Thank Eru.”

Bard smiled giddily, burying his grin in the curve of Thranduil’s neck. “You never told me you were king, you foolish elf.” Bard’s voice came muffled, but it was clearly heard in the silent clearing. Thranduil sighed slightly.

“I wanted you to be yourself around me, not the subject of propriety.” 

Bard shook his head disbelievingly, a fond smile making its way across his lips, much like the first time elf had said he didn’t meet the bargeman out of obligation. Bard kissed Thranduil once more, before they were broken apart by a little brown haired girl.

“Are you the nice elf?” she asked. Thranduil’s face flashed in a smile. 

“I am. Are you Tilda?”

She nodded solemnly. “I am.”

“You are excellent with cross-stitching,” complemented Thranduil, trying not to let his face break out into a full grin. Tilda’s own solemn facade broke and she smiled, leaping to hug the elf’s leg. Thranduil laughed and patted her back, quietly introducing himself to Bard’s other kids.

“I KNEW IT!”

Thranduil whirled around at the yell, seeing an unrepentantly grinning Legolas. He cleared his throat awkwardly. It was then that he realized the whole of Laketown and the whole of his elven army were watching. He cleared his throat once more, just as awkwardly.


End file.
